


Gula

by Kopromancer



Category: GHOST (Band)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Gluttony, Yikes, dagger play, possibly quite triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kopromancer/pseuds/Kopromancer
Summary: Ghouls must be meant to starve.





	Gula

**Author's Note:**

> Boo. I'm back.
> 
> This was supposed to be part of a collection-type thing I was going to write -- one drabble for each of the original eight deadly sins; Gula, Luxuria, Avaritia, Superbia, Tristitia, Ira, Vanagloria & Acedia. Naturally, this was the one I stuck with and finished first. It's brief, I know -- I might mess around with this again sometime later and add to it. 
> 
> I apologize.

Ghouls must be meant to starve, Omega muses to himself, cursed by the famine that is abstinence from their Papa. It is a divine and supreme privilege to devour him, to indulge in him, for his flesh is that of Satan’s flesh; his body is a sacred vessel, and Omega has it entirely to himself. He relishes the dips and contours of cool, pale skin and admires the prominent curves of bone along his torso, dizzied by the power that the Pope has granted him. 

“Omega,” coos Papa, prone and bare upon fine sheets, a demanding echo. “come here to me.” 

And powerful as he may be, as mighty as his Papa has made him, Omega will not resist him. He sinks onto the mattress beside his Papa, taking in his delicate frame, unconsciously counting the glistening ladder of silver bars that decorate the underside of his phallus, holding on tight to the dagger in his fist. 

The Pope’s gaze is wicked and evil beneath his ceremonial paint — the Ghoul is flattered Papa has deemed this little communion worthy of such, and within moments Omega is upon him entirely, already uncomfortably hard and leaking, driven mad with carnal desire, eager to endlessly drink of pure devil’s blood. Papa whispers to him, encouraging him, taking hold of Omega’s trembling right hand and guiding it ever closer to him. 

“Cut.” he demands, giving the Ghoul’s cheek a long, wanton lick, gasping aloud when Omega’s blade drags across his chest, tearing a burning gash into the tender skin there. 

Rubies of blood spill forth from the wound and Omega catches them as gracefully as he can, closing his mouth over the blistered cut and gathering any excess with his fingertips. He hears Papa sigh above him, he feels his thighs quiver, and he draws back momentarily, admiring his work. The gash is long and swollen, but even; it will heal tidily and leave its bearer with a faint pink scar at most. 

Papa cries the Ghoul’s name again, squirming beneath him, begging him for more. Omega hesitates not and presses the blade to the Pope’s lips to silence him, only to be crudely challenged when Papa’s tongue darts forward and smooths over the pure, shining metal. He tilts the blade back and into Papa’s mouth, feeling himself twitch to gaze upon the Pope this way, his tongue curling up the athame’s edge. Their eyes meet at once, and Papa gives the Ghoul a brief nod — Omega holds his breath as he twists the dagger, watching in ecstatic awe as the fragile tissue of the Pope’s bottom lip is so easily severed and as rich, crimson fluid falls over his chin and pools upon his throat. 

Near panting, the Ghoul cuts into him once more, this time just below his breast, and he revels in Papa’s torment, ducking his head to lap the gore away. The Pope sighs, legs spreading instinctively, dainty fingers combing through the Ghoul’s hair. 

“Kiss me, Omega,” he moans, tucking a free hand just beneath Omega’s jaw, tilting his head upward to face him. “taste me.” 

Hands slick with blood, Omega takes rough hold of the Pope and pulls him into a scathing embrace, groaning into the smaller man’s mouth as the warm taste of copper covers his tongue. In an instant he has discarded the blade, a jumping hand now upon his straining sex, fondling himself as he engulfs Papa’s taste, tearing smaller lacerations into his lips with his jagged, demonic teeth — the Ghoul is feral, ferocious, and Papa would graciously submit if Omega should decide to eat him alive. 

Papa thrusts against him, desperate for friction, helplessly whimpering and writhing for release. He clings to Omega, black-polished fingernails scraping along his shoulders and his back, drawing back only to breathe and admire his Ghoul, black and white pigment smeared across his lips from the intensity of their collision, and it’s then that Papa imagines how gruesome he must appear, painted like some whore of a corpse, swelling slashes decorating his milk-white skin, plasma oozing from his mouth — he releases the thought almost as soon as it had come to him, leaning softly backward with a contented sigh as Omega buries his head into the crook of his neck, kissing and biting there as he fucks steadily into his fist. 

The orgasm is violent, all trembling limbs and strangled cries, and the sensation of blood and sweat and semen coalescing upon him sends Papa reeling as Omega spends, giving his cock a few firm pulls before he comes behind him, an acute wail escaping his throat. His muscles tense and then relax again, arms limply curling about Omega’s middle as he catches his faltering breath. They are sticky and hot, a terrible mess, but still, they do not sever.

They lie in silence for moments upon moments, comfortable in each other’s warmth before Omega laughs quietly to himself. “Am I more of a beast than even you, now, Papa? Have I defiled you completely?” 

Papa scoffs, giving the Ghoul’s ass a careful slap. “Oh, you’d be so lucky, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I have nothing to do with Ghost or the aforementioned characters. Just lots of love and evil thoughts.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Be gentle, please.


End file.
